Incarnation

Before my bones were made,
My mother wept and prayed
That she would have a boy
And fill his days with joy.
And from my mother's hope
My veins wove like a rope.
And all her tears became
The flesh that bears my name.
Now I pass down, in turn,
The love I did not earn,
Until the mouth of death
Tastes my final breath.
Then even death will sing
The hope that was my spring,
The meek and lowly May
That spoke night into day
And flows through everything.
So let its echo ring.